Through the Broken Glass
by RottenAmaranthus
Summary: Pitch Black expected a lot of things after his defeat. Loneliness. Monotony. What he didn't expect was the blind and seemingly fearless Alice tumbling into his life and jarring it around like it was a snow globe, spiraling it into a delightful chaos. However, an old enemy rises to reap his revenge on Pitch and Alice might get caught in the crossfire.
1. Chapter 1: Broken Glass House

**Chapter 1: Broken Glass House**

Darkness and nothing but the light of three dim candles were all that Pitch had for company.

Sure, he had his fearlings, his nightmares. The mares, after much trial and tribulation, had finally submitted themselves to his rule once more. The Nightmare King finally taught himself to control his fear, to force it down to a part of him that was secluded and was harshly and lividly labeled "DO NOT OPEN".

He sat in a black iron chair placed at the head of a long, elegant, table. The chair was more of a throne, really; a throne that looked over a desolate kingdom that echoed with loneliness.

Nightmares weren't ones that were great for conversation, nor could they stay still long enough for a cup of tea. No, they only had pallets for fear and lately their throats have been dry and they often complain by whinnying and whining. As much as Pitch adored those sounds of hunger and desperation, they were starting to get on his nerves lately.

The Nightmare King found that he was short-tempered and snapping at anything ranging from a forgivable transgression (like a young mare pouncing on another out of hunger and making a mess of the place) to some things that were far from being worthy of forgiveness (like a mare returning slightly smaller than it had left as a result of an unsuccessful hunt).

But what he loathed the most was the monotony of his current life.

There wasn't much he could do but sit around and slowly regain his strength as the children of the world once again started to jump at their own shadows after having watched a horror film their parents had mistakenly left on. He leafed through his books, old runes, scrolls, and anything with symbols or words written on the pages at least three times apiece. He was bored and he was _bitter_. All he had wanted was to be believed in! Was that such a crime?

Pitch Black, in a blind rage, hit the iron candelabra with the back of his hand, casting the weak flames into a black abyss. They tumbled down the seemingly bottomless hole as each disappeared one by one. Pitch hummed to himself as he sat back in his throne. He laced his fingers together as he delved into his thoughts.

He had discovered as these monotonous and boring months passed that it wasn't really believers that he was searching for. No, what he wanted was a friend, an ally. Someone he could speak with and someone he could trust and not necessarily have to betray later down the road. They didn't even have to stay forever (he'd prefer that they didn't), just a little while.

Pitch had thought that he found and ally in Jack Frost, but that wish and want had curled up and died the moment Jack had handed over his shepherd's crook. That boy gave up so easily, and for what? The life of a tiny fairy? Pitch was even kind enough to show Jack that the Guardians would never accept him as one of their own. Alright, perhaps he had to stretch the truth a little bit and create a convenient situation that showed Pitch's words should be treated as gospel, but Pitch was growing desperate and, though he would never admit to it, he was almost elated to have someone who even remotely felt like he did.

_Almost_.

Jack would have gotten boring after a while, and if he had taken up his offer Pitch could see himself casting the winter sprite into a black pit where he couldn't interfere. Oh, well. Things were as they were and there was no changing that. Yet, anyway. Soon enough he would take his revenge. Good things come to those who wait, right?

As Pitch sat at the head of the empty table, he was unaware that a young mare had crossed the path of a young woman who, in her own right, would cast much more light than a lit candelabrum in his desolate, monotonous world.

* * *

It had rained earlier that day in London. The rain drops were nothing too harsh, but nothing too kind. They dropped lazily out of the sky and hit the ground with a graceless _plop_.

Life must have been interesting for a raindrop, or so Alice Pleasance thought. She didn't know what a raindrop looked like exactly, but she was always listening for what they had to say, what stories they brought with them from various ponds and streams across all of Europe. They haven't said anything coherent yet, but she was convinced that one day she'll recognize a word or two. All she had to do was listen.

She was always fond of light rainfalls and adored harsh summer storms. She liked how the thunder shook the window frame violently on late nights. Once her mother told her that thunder was made by lightening which was a streak of the brightest light dancing across the sky. She had told her that they were often a blue color. Alice liked the color blue. _Blue, blue, blue_. It sounded so gentle and so kind. With a grand name like that it must be a splendid color.

Delicate and lazy summer time rain was the best in Alice's opinion because as it was ending she could go outside and feel their chilly kisses on her skin and enjoy the smell that came shortly after. Someone said to her once that rainbows formed after the dark clouds moved away. Alice may not have known what a rainbow looked like, but it sounded divine and she was sure that it was beautiful.

So there Alice was, donning a dark purple dress, a white cardigan, and simple black shoes with the laces in a disorderly mess and her stockings with small rips at the heels. Her platinum blonde hair hung about her shoulders and bounced as she walked along the sidewalk, making her way to the local park.

She could hear the hustle and bustle of London caught in the hours just after tea-time and long before supper. She could smell the local bakery's delights wafting through the air. She could also hear the soft _click, click_ of the cane she held in her hand.

People generally kept their distance from her, but many kind gentlemen offered her assistance when it came to crossing the streets. She politely declined when what she really wanted to do was clobber their skulls with her cane to show that she could take care of herself, thank you very much! She _certainly _wasn't helpless therefore she _certainly_ didn't need any assistance when it came to toddling across an intersection when the cars were at a full stop and her legs were _certainly _working just fine!

But Alice just smiled and thanked the gentlemen in a soft voice before going her way.

When she finally made it to the park she stopped to catch a sound or two. The rain had finally stopped (save for a few droplets who were running rather late for their appointment with the earth) and the wind coaxed goose-bumps from her pale skin. There was no one in the park, at least no one nearby. She supposed that the people of London had better things to do than enjoy the chilly summer afternoon. Oh, well. She could enjoy it all on her own.

That thought placed a small frown on her face. It's not like she _disliked_ people, she just needed the company of others in small doses so that she didn't curl up and die after listening to the familiar questions that were presented to her, questions like: "what's it like to be blind?" and the ever amusing: "what do you _see_, exactly?"

Nothing, you bloody bugger!

Alice sighed as she supposed that would be a rude answer. She was, after all, trying to keep her temper in check. She'd taken up learning patience and politeness as a new hobby. She concluded that she had too much time on her hands, but what could she do? Time must be spent doing _some_thing as opposed to _no_thing.

Alice suddenly wondered what _nothing_ looked like to people that could see. She had no sense of what would make a thing "_some_" and what would make a thing "_no_" or "_not_", therefore _nothing_.

How peculiar the English language was. If _some_thing didn't exist, then it was _no_thing. But if _no_thing wasn't even a thing, then why was there even a word for it and a befuddling one at that? Wouldn't making a thing _no_thing still make it a nothing-thing, therefore proving that it exists?

Alice yearned for the ear of another to listen to her thoughts and to analyze them. Even if they proclaimed her ideas to be stupid she wouldn't mind, so long as they were honest and presented a good argument as to why the conjuring of her mind were illogical and full of nonsense.

Oh, but to deal with people for far too long would agonize her her! And it's not like anyone stuck around long enough for her to get offended with them. No, she didn't _dislike_ people as prior mentioned. She just had a very small tolerance for what people had to offer conversation wise or otherwise!

Alice, lost in her thoughts, was wandering down the stone pathway in the park when something brushed up past her leg. Initially thinking that it was a cat Alice bent down and lightly tapped the ground. "Hello there, Mr. Kitty! How are you?" she asked it as if it could return dialogue.

If anyone were around her they might have thought her mad! She wasn't insane or off her rocker (she didn't even own a rocker, mind you), she was just lonely. But loneliness can drive someone to insanity if left untreated for too long, right?

What she thought was a cat was really a tiny nightmare, standing no taller than a foot. It had been brushing up against the legs of people all day in a vain attempt to feed off of whatever fear they had radiating on them at the moment.

The mare floated up to Alice and sniffed her hand. She offered it her palm and it nuzzled her milky skin roughly. Alice set her stick down and brought her other hand to stroke the creature.

"Oh!" Alice exclaimed. The creature before her felt like a tiny…horse? Why, that was silly! Horses weren't bred to be that tiny! Unless it wasn't a horse? Perhaps it was something else? The mare whinnied and playfully nipped at her fingers.

No, it was a horse. Perhaps it was just a very tiny foal just recently born! But to Alice's knowledge there weren't any newly-mothered horses running around the local park.

"How peculiar," she mumbled to herself.

Without a warning the tiny mare stiffened and its ears perked up. It suddenly darted away and to anyone besides Alice it looked almost like a floating ink cloud gliding across the ground.

Alice grinned and picked up her stick. She chased after the mare, skillfully dodging trees and various rocks. She's walked around these woods practically all her life so unless someone didn't move a stone out of place she would be alright.

The young woman did falter and nearly fall in her pursuit, but that wouldn't stop her! Finally, she stumbled upon something out of the ordinary! It's always nice to break your schedule every once in a while, yeah? Have a little variety so that life wasn't the equivalent to a stale saltine?

Alice paused for a moment when she reached the very end of the park. She tepidly climbed over the short, iron fence and successfully made it to the other side. Beyond this point was the woodland that some say was haunted. Alice didn't know that for fact or fiction, but what she did know was that all the nights she's popped in for a visit not _once_ did she experience anything out of the ordinary. Why, there was nothing out there but dying trees, crude owls, and an old stone building that she's never been in.

She turned when she heard the light rustle of leaves and heard the faint echo of a whinny. She walked in that general direction.

Occasionally she would hear something that would lead her in the right direction. Alice couldn't quite describe it, but now she was starting to notice that the creature she was following gave off an aura of sorts. As it got farther away she felt, oh, what was the proper word? Safe? "Safe" wasn't quite right, but it would have to do.

Finally, she followed the speedy mare to the center of the woodland where the abandoned house lay dormant. She followed it around to the back, dragging her hand lightly across the rough surface of the stone.

The home stood tall and looked bleak and grey. The thin trees cast long, ominous shadows across its cold surface. A light wind whistled through the aged Victorian windows and the door ways all rattled harshly against their rusted hinges.

Anyone with common sense would have stayed away, but Alice liked to think of herself as a violator of normal conventions, so without another thought she walked through the servant's entrance to the house, following the faint footsteps of the nightmare.

The mare pranced happily through the house ducking into various passageways. Alice tried desperately follow it and in addition to losing her way she lost (excuse the term) sight of the creature. With her hand dragging along the wall she felt a tapestry cough up dust that held the history of the many years of neglect.

The cloth returned to stone and after another moment her hand rested on nothing but thin air. She tapped along with her stick until she nearly tripped on what she thought was a cabinet or at the very least a piece of furniture.

Her foot really caught on the corner of a grand stone statue that watched over the grand ball room. It was a winged unicorn that stood high and mighty on its back legs with its wings splayed outwards. Its horn was chipped at the tip and its eyes were crimson rubies.

Above Alice was a cobweb laden chandelier that once had been crystal, but alas with time and neglect the beauty had faded leaving nothing but a black _thing_ that would provide and reflect no light whatsoever.

With a huff Alice righted herself and gathered her cane. She had that feeling again, that feeling of being unsafe (not exactly the right word, but it wasn't wrong). Cocking her head she caught the faintest sound of a distant whinny.

Delighted, Alice followed the sound to the base of the grand staircase. She tapped her cane as she ascended the wide steps. "Mr. Mini-Horse!" she called out as she continued on her trek. "Please wait up!"

Finally reaching the top of the stairs she felt the mare brush ever so slightly against her leg. She jumped a little, but her fright was replaced with a grin. "Oh, Mr. Mini-Horse! Wait!" she pleaded as she quickened her pace.

After ascending another set of stairs (and nearly tumbling down at the top) located behind another time-beaten tapestry, Alice came upon a wooden door that was opened just a crack. She walked in, leaving the door open half way.

The mare jumped around the empty room gleefully. There wasn't even a window in that room. It wasn't even a grand room like the others in that house. It was tiny, almost as large as an average prison cell. The stone walls, however, were smooth and there wasn't a speck of dust to be found.

Alice stepped in when she heard the oddest sound come from the end of the room. It was a _whoosh_. It sounded mystical.

To say that the room was empty would be to lie. There was a floor length mirror with an iron setting nailed to the farthest wall. The edges were blackened and there was a crack or too starting to form at the corners.

After taking one more dance around the room the mare darted through the mirror and disappeared. Alice gasped in curiosity. That not-quite-unsafe feeling was completely gone now.

Not wanting to leave this mystery untouched, Alice Pleasance investigated the entirety of the room. She yelped when her hand lightly grazed the cool, icy surface of the mirror. Relieved that it was only glass she ran her hands along the sides. Along the iron frame she felt chunks of iron sticking out, forming what she thought were rose petals. How lovely!

She rested her hand on the mirror again, this time with more force. The Mini-Horse must've gone somewhere!

Before she could retract her hand she felt something like a tug from the mirror. The mirror pulled the unwilling woman into its domain.

And thus begins the grand adventures of Alice Pleasance.


	2. Chapter 2: A Garden of Dead Flowers

**Hello there, everyone! Thank you so much for reading my story!**

**I hope you all are enjoying the style of writing in this story. I'm trying something new and I don't really know what to call it. It's borderline inner rambling / subconscious monologues of the characters perceived in an outsider's point of view.**

**Heh, that doesn't make too much sense to me either. Oh well.**

**Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this next chapter!**

* * *

**Chapter 2: A Garden of Dead Flowers**

Alice was flung through the mirror at an impossible speed and managed to land on her stomach. Her stick clattered off of a nearby ledge and landed on some skinny crevice not too far off. She had entered a room that was the mirror-image of the room she was previously in. This new room, however, had slight differences that Alice wouldn't be able to see.

For example, where the suffocating stairwell and rotted door once stood was now ledge that hung over a black abyss. The walls that made up the tiny room where much larger and, if possible, darker and dustier. The air here was thicker, laden with that not-quite-unsafe feeling.

Alice sat up and started to crawl on her hands and knees in an attempt to fine her cane. She was muttering incoherently to herself about mini-horses and hidden doorways.

Suddenly, her hands left the ragged edges and met with nothing but air. Tumbling head first, Alice plummeted down into a dark abyss. As she fell she couldn't help but think that she had fallen off of a cliff of sorts, but that was silly! She wasn't out-of-doors and she didn't know of anyone who had _cliffs_ for their interior decoration.

The young woman landed with a harsh _thud_ on another cold, stone surface. Her back ached but she was delighted to find that nothing was broken. She supposed that she would walk away with bruises and nothing else.

Now, Alice had fallen down many sets of stairs in her day but never had she taken a fall quite like that! There weren't any connecting surfaces that she could attempt to find purchase for! Why, it felt similar to the time she fell down a well as a small child.

"Goodness!" Alice exclaimed as she sat up. "Tumbling down stairs is nothing compared to a fall like that! Now if I can only figure out where I am…"

* * *

Black sand was dancing around the Nightmare King's hand. He was forming random shapes. He made something similar to a beating heart. He made it thump and pump like the muscle would do. He smirked as he thought about what the heart symbolized. If Cupid were here, he'd have a good laugh about that.

Pitch never understood why the heart would represent love. If anything it represented life.

He heard the term of giving your heart to someone. Now, why would you want to do that? This vital organ pushed the blood through your veins, it kept everything in motion. It never ceased. Who would place such a vast amount of trust in someone? Was that was love was? Trusting someone with your life?

That was preposterous. You could only trust yourself with your life.

But why was the heart always associated with love? He never felt fondness take root in that organ. If anything he felt a slight pang, a distant pain that only surfaced when he deep in thought. When he was alone. When he felt forgotten.

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Whenever those pesky emotions popped up he wondered if he was simply ill. Perhaps the children had grown to brave or overcame a fear, such as the fear of the dentist. Yes, that was it. He was just ill and the discomfort would pass. This was always so.

He wondered what heartbreak was like.

If the heart broke, wouldn't you cease to exist? The blood would stop flowing and you would collapse, dead. Now, how did a heart break exactly? It would break if a knife was drawn through it, or perhaps if you hit the cold ground hard enough. Words certainly couldn't do such damage, right?

The Nightmare King had a different heart than any elemental or mythical creature. His heart was made of glass, glass that reflected no light and shone only darkness. It pumped black ink into his veins and thumped slowly, slower. And slower. And slower.

It rarely ever thumped faster than a languid _thuuuuump…thuuuump…thuuuump_.

He recalled what it was like to feel fear. Cold, sequestered, freed fear that gnawed at his center. His heart never beat so fast, he thought that it would pop right out of his chest!

Nothing could crack his glass-heart. Not even fear, not heart break. Or, so he thought. For unlike hearts made of blood and muscle, a glass heart could shatter with the most delicate touches.

Pitch Black looked up from the artwork in his hands. A spider web laced up his arm and stopped at his elbow. The web trapped the sand-heart in its lines and twisted and turned and pulled at the heart until the entire image dissipated. Something was wrong. There was an intruder in his kingdom.

* * *

Pitch had expectations. He expected that after his defeat he would be left alone. He expected his life to be monotonous for a while. He expected no one to believe in him. He even had a faint expectation of the Guardians popping in for a visit to keep him in line. What he didn't expect was to see a blonde woman in a purple dress tumbling off a ledge and landing with a hard _thump_ on another surface.

"Goodness!" the stranger exclaimed as she moved to a sitting positon. "Tumbling down stairs is nothing compared to a fall like that! Now if I can only figure out where I am…"

Pitch hissed to himself "How did she get here!?"

He spotted a tiny mare prancing gaily around and grabbed it by the hind leg in anger. She must've fallen through one of the portals that were well hidden. The stranger couldn't have found it unless she followed one of those incompetent mares!

He was about to cast the mare off into the darkness when he was frozen by a melodious voice.

"Hello?" the stranger said. "Is someone there? I could have _sworn_ that I heard someone."

Pitch's grip loosened and the mare darted off in frenzy. _Did she just…_Pitch thought to himself. The stranger's greeting was met with nothing but silence.

"You know," she began again. "I may be blind but I'm certainly not deaf or dumb! I _know_ someone's out there!"

Alice Pleasance stood on her feet, ready to scold whoever was there! Although she didn't need people to make them known to her, it was awfully rude to hide away from a blind person! Why, if there really was nothing there she would think herself mad. But she liked to think that her mental health strayed _far_ from lunacy, so therefore there certainly _was_ someone present in the not-quite-unsafe-feeling room she was in.

"It's awfully rude to hide away from a blind woman and _not_ offer her assistance! Not that I require any, thank you very much," Alice said again as she started to walk in any old direction. Pitch thought that maybe if he scared her bad enough she'd leave. There was no possible way that she believed in him! Look at how old she was! This stranger was too old to believe in monsters under the bed.

However, chasing her out would be harder than he thought. As she was walking her foot caught on an obvious upturned stone. Again, the stranger landed on the ground with a harsh _thud_, but this time it was on her face and not her bum. She sat up rubbing her wrist and elbow. He'd be lucky if she even found the correct doorway.

"My, my!" she exclaimed. "This place is a death trap!"

Pitch floated up behind here, glaring at her back. "You have no idea…" he rumbled.

"Ah! There you are!" Alice said as she turned and faced the direction of the voice. It sounded low, dark, frightening almost. "I _knew_ someone was there."

"You can really hear me," Pitch said mostly to himself. The stiffness placed on the King's shoulders loosened and sagged. "Can you…can you see me?"

"Um, I beg your pardon? Didn't you hear me say that I was blind?"

_Right_, the Nightmare King thought to himself. _She's said that three times already_.

When Alice's remark was again met with looming and heavy silence she corrected and chastised her behavior.

"Oh dear! That was rude of me," Alice said. "I apologize."

Pitch, not wanting to deal with her random mumblings asked "who are you?"

He suspected that maybe she was sent in by the Guardians or the Man in the Moon himself to test his patients. As soon as she would state her name he was ready to strike her and send her screaming away. He conjured up some black sand to throw at her, but faltered when he heard her voice again. Her delicate, innocent voice.

"I'm Alice Pleasance, sir. And you are?"

"Pitch Black," he replied, staying his hand and dissipating the sand. "I'm the boogeyman."

"Really?" Alice said with a high note to her voice. She sounded almost…excited. "That's splendid."

Pitch, not understanding what she meant by _splendid_ simply asked: "You really believe in me?"

The young woman proceeded to stand up and brush off her purple dress. "Oh, certainly!"

"And you're not afraid?" Pitch said in a harsh voice, leaning in closer to the girl who got a shiver up her spine and yet she thought nothing of it. To her the voice of the Nightmare King was rather unusual. Dark, creeping, seething, and ancient. And yet it also sounded weary. Just a touch, of course. Weariness wasn't to prominent in his voice and she suspected that it was because he was out of practice with expressing it, or rather he's had too much practice with concealing it. One or the other.

"Should I be?" Alice asked as her hands examined a slight rip in her stockings.

"Ideally, yes." Pitch replied, and he was taken aback with what the woman said next.

"I suppose I _would_ be afraid of you, now that I think about it," she said after a moment of pondering and folding her hands in an innocent gesture. "But I'm not."

Pitch, not finding that satisfactory, swiftly and silently crept up behind her and whispered eerily in her ear, sounding very much like a serpent. "_Now, why's that?_"

"Mr. Black, I constantly see darkness, and to be rather frank, it's not all that scary now that it's rather familiar to me. And you seem rather friendly," she said and this made Pitch chuckle darkly to himself. How foolish _was_ this girl!

"How…why do you believe in me?" he said as Alice turned to face his general direction. She laughed as though he had said something preposterous.

"Why wouldn't I? You haven't given me evidence that you _don't _exist, Mr. Black, now have you?" She giggled. "I've believed in you since I was an itsy bitsy little girl."

The Nightmare King wanted to inquire more. Why wouldn't he be stronger with a believer? He suspected it was because of her age.

"Pitch," he said suddenly, casting his ancient eyes down at the girl.

"Beg your pardon?"

"Call me Pitch."

Alice smiled. "Alright then, Pitch. You can call me Alice if you take a fancy to that." She was mocking him, laughing at him. And yet, oddly enough, Pitch found that he was starting to enjoy her company. This was probably just a side-effect of reclusion and soon enough he would send her on her way with a nightmare on her shoulder.

"Have you seen my walking cane around here?" She asked after a lighter silence descended on the pair. "I must've dropped it when I took that awful tumble."

Pitch snapped his fingers and two mares trotted up to him with the cane in their mouths. He pulled it away from them "How did you get in here, anyway?"

"Well, I was walking along- thank you." Alice gingerly grabbed the cane when it was presented to her. "When the most peculiar creature passed by me. I told myself not to interfere, but I was curious. So I decided to follow the creature into that old abandoned fortress of a house in the middle of the local woodland."

"Curiosity often killed the cat," Pitch noted.

Alice scoffed, clearly offended. "Well, I'm _not _a cat! And I'm surprised I've survived this long, to be honest."

The King paused for a moment. "What do you mean?"

Alice, taking a seat on a nearby stone, simply stated: "You weren't planning on killing me then?"

"No," Pitch replied with slight hesitation that did not surpass Alice's ears.

"Hmm…alright then," Alice said. The first words that Pitch had exchanged with her were hostile and very frightening, so it was only natural for her to assume the worst. It probably wasn't the best strategy. She was trying to teach herself how to see the best in people, but it was so difficult when she encountered so many rotten people! But, she's managed to hold her tongue of insults this long and Pitch hadn't tried to harm her from what she could hear. Oh, well. It was best if she took her leave on such a decent note before the boogeyman decided to trap her in a glass jar and keep her forever.

"Perhaps you can tell me where I ought to go from here," she continued. "I didn't mean to trespass."

Pitch's grey, icy hand gently grasped at her hand. He marveled at how silky her skin felt, but quickly dispelled those thoughts. "Allow me…" He said as Alice felt the ground disappear beneath her feet, only to be placed back down a minute later.

Pitch had brought her to the long, empty, iron table. He placed her in an iron chair and pushed it in slightly. Things were so boring here, so why not have a small conversation with a woman who actually believed that he existed? He couldn't deny this feeling anymore. He wanted to be in her company for longer than he had expected.

"Thank you," Alice said as she set her cane aside. "But I really must be going."

"What's the rush?" Pitch said as he sat in the throne at the edge of the table (although it could hardly be defined as a throne). "I rarely get visitors. Care for some tea?"

Alice thought for a moment. So, he was going to poison her! No, no, _bad Alice!_ Think positive thoughts. "Oh, alright," she said at last. "Just a cup! And I am only doing this because I really haven't anywhere to be. I'm afraid I lied when I said that I 'must be going'."

Pitch chuckled deeply and another shiver danced down Alice's spin. "That's fine." A fearling came up to Alice and poured some tea into a black percaline cup. The creature placed it in front of her and darted off.

Alice, thinking that it was Pitch who poured the cup of tea, smiled in his general direction. "Thank you, Pitch." As she drank the tea she noticed that it wasn't hot as she had expected it to be. It wasn't even lukewarm! And yet, although cold, she found it strangely delightful. Why, when she got home she should try placing her cuppa into the fridge for a couple of moments. "Mmm…what a lovely brew!"

When Pitch responded with silence Alice couldn't help but feel that he was eyes her. And indeed they were, and with such an intense gaze! It was almost as if he were studying her, like she was a creature. She could see (well, hear) the headline of the documentary in her head: _WITNESS A DOMESTICATED ALICE IN HER NATUARL HABITAT!_

Placing the cup down and resting her chin on her palm as she casually tried to goad him out of silence. Silence, for long periods of time, was unpleasant to Alice. "Not one for conversation, are you?" she began. If her own voice was the only source of stimulation for her ears, then so be it!

"I for one am _filled_ with conversation topics, but one should be mindful of what they say to a stranger for fear of offending them, much like when I tried speaking to Mr. Mini-Horse! I think I must have displeased him! Why else would he run off? But then again if Mr. Mini-Horse hadn't run off I wouldn't have pursued him here! Perhaps when I called him 'Mr. Kitty' he took offence to me."

"Excuse me?" Pitch said, not having a _clue_ as to what she was rambling about.

"I apologize," Alice said. "I should learn to hush up more often. I like to think that I've made _some_ progress, but I seldom follow my self-given-lessons. I think I can teach myself well enough, but then again if I followed everything that I say I'll end up in an odd situation. That's probably why I'm here," she concluded with a gleeful laugh.

Pitch continued to silently observe her.

After another sip of tea Alice continued talking. "My curiosity often leads to trouble, you see, and I think that's the problem with me. I suppose there's no helping it, though. I'm a lost cause."

Her demeanor suddenly went from joyful to somber. A frown marred her pretty face. "Have you disappeared on me? You wouldn't be the first."

Pitch reassured her. "I'm still here."

Alice couldn't help but jump out of her skin (jumping out of one's skin…sounds awfully dangerous! What if you couldn't get it back on?). "Goodness, you're like a phantom!

"I am the boogeyman, after all. The King of Nightmares."

"What's it like?"

Without hesitation Pitch said one word mournfully. "_Lonely_."

He said it with such softness that even Alice almost missed it.

"I think I know what that's like," she said tepidly as she placed the empty tea cup down.

"No, you don't!" The boogeyman suddenly shouted in a rage. How could _she_ possible understand what it meant to be alone? To live in a dark, cold world hidden beneath the earth? Her head was for far up in the clouds that she could feel a hint warmth while he had nothing.

"Have I offended you?" Alice asked and quickly tried to rectify the situation. "Well, I am sorry but I don't understand why you would be offended."

"_You should go now…_" the King of Nightmares hissed. He had grown tired of her rambling, of her sweet voice. This always happened and he knew it. Whenever the Man in the Moon (or whatever higher power had condemned him to this life) granted him the gift of company he only wanted his solitude back. It was a vicious circle and _she couldn't possibly understand._

Alice stood up and reached for her cane. Speaking softly she said "I've overstayed my welcome, haven't I?"

Pitch roughly grabbed her arm and in an instant they were back at the portal. In a rage he tossed her through, hoping in all earnest that she did not return. What he didn't notice was that when he had pulled her from the various ledges in his domain that a golden trinket had fallen out of her pocket.

Alice stumbled and managed to land back on her bum back in the stone, empty, cold room. "Thank you for the tea!" she called as she turned to face him.

_Thuuump, thump, thump, thump _went his heart for the briefest of moments.

Pitch couldn't bring himself to turn away. Again, his life was dictated with expectations, but he never expected for his cruel and rather irrational actions to be met with kindness and politeness. He found that he understood this woman less than when they met minutes ago. His harsh glare softened as she turned to go.

He felt this odd feeling, a feeling he felt once before when his proposition for an alliance with Jack Frost was turned down. He found that he didn't want her to go so soon. His mind must have been betraying him! Pitch Black never felt such feelings of yearning (this of course was a lie) or pining for someone else's company when he was left alone in his kingdom of monotony (again, this was a poorly managed recent denial that he conjured up).

Without a word he turned to return to the table, only to have a glittering gold object catch his ancient eyes.

Leaning down to investigate he found that it was a tiny pocket watch with a short chain ticking away on the cold floor. _Tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick_.

He picked it up and placed it away for a later date. He would, after all, have to return this trinket eventually, and that thought put a small smile on his face.


	3. Chapter 3: Broken Glass Nightmares

**So I just thought that I'd mention that Alice is inspired by Alice Liddell from Lewis Carroll's **_**Alice's Adventures in Wonderland **_**and **

_**Through the Looking Glass and What Alice Found There**_**.**

"**Alice Pleasance Liddell" was the full name of the girl that Carroll drew inspiration from to create the timeless and beloved Alice.**

**Fun facts make the world go round… (yeah, no).**

**Anyway, I'm sorry for the delay, but (finally) here is chapter 3! **

**Thank you all for your continued support!**

* * *

**Chapter 3: Broken Glass Nightmares**

Falling. Flailing.

Tumbling. Twisting. Turning.

Down. Down. Down. Down.

Harsh wind whistled, screamed, ripped through Alice's ears in a harmony-lacking cacophony of chaos. She tried to right herself, but she had no sense of direction. When facing up she felt like she was facing down, North was South, East was left and West was somewhere far off, maybe below her. She heard the malevolent cackle of fire peak through the roaring wind. She felt angry heat dance across her flesh as though she was falling just beyond the reach of the flames of a delicate candle, and a rather large one at that. She could smell burning wax. She could hear the echoing cull of a distant crow.

At the same time, however, she was drowning. Weighted. Falling.

She heard someone in the distance, calling from beyond the unseen fire and the wrathful wind. Alice tried calling out for help but her voice was consumed and lost within the chaos. Who in the world would be calling to her? Where _was_ she?

She felt nauseous. Her heart was beating. She knew that at any moment she would collide with the ground. At any moment. Any moment, now. Any moment. Soon. Very soon. She couldn't possibly be falling forever, that would be ridicules! All things have an end, _all things must end_. Nothing, no matter how jovial or jarring always had an end, a pause, ceased and allowed something new to begin.

Smashing like a china doll onto the ground would have been better than this. Falling. Twisting. Tumbling. Down. Down. Down again in a never ending spiral. How did she ever get here? Why was she here? Where was _here_? Something wasn't right.

She was tumbling right, no left, no- No. That wasn't right. People don't fly left or right, they are flung up and pulled down when caught in the air. This wasn't right. None of this was right. She must've been dreaming, of course! Dreaming, no- plagued with a nightmare. All she had to do was wake up. Wake up. Stop falling. _Wake up…_

* * *

Pitch could always feel when a vicious nightmare was born, no matter how far he was.

When a nightmare was created naturally, created by the fear plaguing and consuming the mind of a child or even an adult, it was always potent. Attractive. Pitch found that he was like a moth drawn to a distant light in the darkest of nights. He couldn't keep away.

It called to him, taunted him. Echoed mercilessly around the globe until he followed the astuteness of his ears and trusted the pull he felt on his wings. He was convinced that it would be his undoing, but what a way would that be to go!

The King of Nightmares shuddered at the thought. His brief experience with the nightmares attacking him was one that he wasn't going to forget anytime soon, or anytime in the future, really. He never truly experienced cold until he felt a numbness course through his veins, paralyzing his heart that was running miles in his chest (but really, how could a heart run without any legs?), only to cease when the chill reached his heart and he knew nothing but of fear.

Much like when he was speaking with that girl, Alice, his heart thumped, but that dance in his chest was pleasant, but he would never admit that. She was just a foolish blind girl who had accidently fell into his realm. Perhaps the Man in the Moon pushed her into his realm on purpose as retaliation for his past actions. Perhaps it was simply chance. Perhaps Alice was a new enemy.

The Nightmare King immediately disregarded that thought. Alice, with her kind smile and entertaining (no, not entertaining, no, no) ramblings couldn't possibly be a source of malevolence. She was too…_Alice_.

Pitch found no other words to describe the girl that fell through the broken looking glass. She was unlike anything he'd ever seen before within his near-immortal life.

Immortality. What an odd thing that was. Everything had an end, so where was his end?

She had said that she understood. She understood what loneliness was like.

No! No, she didn't, she couldn't possibly understand what it was like to be left alone for being what you were made to be, for trying, for _wanting_, to be seen and noticed. She was a foolish, air-headed girl who knew _nothing_.

Nothing. What an odd word. _No_thing as opposed to _some_thing. Very odd, very unique.

Alice didn't know _nothing_. She just didn't know Pitch, she didn't know what nightmares plagued him. And he wanted to change that. But perhaps it would be best to leave things as they were. Things were monotonous. Things were expected, and most importantly things were predictable. Controllable. Simple.

Pitch found himself traveling along the streets of London in search of that delicious nightmare, calling to him in the dead of the night. His hand held onto something, though, something ticking quietly away.

When he entered the flat, Pitch took in his surroundings. The wall paper was plane and the furniture, though the lot of it was plush and worn out looking, was also desolate of creativity. A blank canvas. But the textures varied from rough, weathered leather to plush faux fur.

Feeling the clarity and the irrationality of the fear, Pitch expected to find a small child writhing in bed, trying to run from an unseen figure, lurking at the very edge of their vision. He expected to find a whimpering child; he expected to find a nightmare prancing around. He had a lot of expectations. What he didn't expect was the familiar young woman with blonde hair, sobbing into the darkness, trapped in the merciless realm of sleep.

* * *

Like a moth drawn to the silver light of the full moon, the Nightmare King was drawn to Alice.

No, no that's not right. No, he was (supposed to be) drawn to the fear riddled within her dreams. But like the brightest beacon he's ever witnessed, much like the moon among dark stars, Alice shone out from the inky blackness and Pitch had this need to be beside her.

But soon that need passed. His clever eyes were distracted by the black cloud floating around her golden head, creating random swirls and misshapen objects. There was no coherency with the pattern above her head.

With a grey finger, Pitch gingerly touched the cloud. The nightmare dust crawled up through his skin and danced around his elegant wrist. It was intoxicating, even though the tremors that coursed through his body were familiar in most unpleasant of ways. Fear was difficult to understand, and he wasn't too fond of being on the receiving end. He caught himself frowning. Displeased. The watch ticking nonchalantly in his robe pocket ticked and tocked away, filling the emptiness with the solemn soliloquy of midnight. _Tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick_. The delicate, heavy hanging air in the room was dispersed with the monotonous sound.

He didn't provoke it, however. The dust remained as such: floating, chaotic particles. He moved over to the window. It was open just a crack so that a small gust of chilly wind snaked inside. Pitch, dispelling the sand back to Alice's dreamland, peaked outside the window where he saw a golden lion prancing around the street. Its grand mane wiggled out in streaks around his mighty head and maw as it dawdled around gaily with a golden stingray.

Sanderson, as usual, was punctual with his nightly delivery. Pitch thought bitterly of his enemy, the Sand Man. He had destroyed him once, but that disgusting belief of the children resurrected him from the realm of nightmares.

And yet, now that Pitch has had time to think on it, life would have become too monotonous without the Sand Man. Without dreams, nightmares lose their severity, their impact. Their chill. If a child knows nothing of cold, then the cold would never bother them. Besides, without an opposing force, what would Pitch do with his time? He was rather fond of the thought of productivity, but then again Sandy did pose as a barricade to the children's fear. That really was the tragedy of it all. He was always destined to a fate spent in purgatory no matter what path down the looming, ominous, shadow inhabiting forest of his life. He mused that Alice was merely a fallen tree in the path, a slight deviation from the moonless stone river.

The Nightmare King reached out and grabbed a palm full of the golden sand, being mindful so as not to turn it into nightmare dust. He turned and sprinkled the fine grains onto the swirling cloud above Alice's tear stained face. Slowly, the black dust assimilated to that of the gold and the chaotic spinning had ceased into nothing more than a lethargic spiral.

Alice's contorted face had softened and her breathing had evened out. She even had a small smile beginning to bloom on her face. She looked almost beautiful in the moon's kind gaze, casting tones of silvers on her fair face and her warm hair.

Pitch caught himself staring. How rude of him, to stare at a woman while she slept. How very rude. He diverted his eyes and turned to leave before he stopped. Oh, right. _Tick-tick-tick-tick_. That incessant sound was starting to wear on his nerves, ticking away, ruining the silence. Really, he would be glad to part with the pocket-watch.

What befuddled him, however, was the sinking feeling he felt in his chest when he placed it beneath Alice's pillow as though it were a gift from the ever-so-sickeningly-sweet-yet-menacing Toothania.

But, then again, it wasn't his too keep and it wasn't of any worth. There was no value to be found in a weathered, gold pocket-watch whose face was an hour off and seemed to tick away for ever and ever. One day the battery will die and the watch will die and eventually Alice will die because she was mortal. And he was trapped. He will not die.

As the Nightmare King exited through the window, he wondered why his thoughts took the path that they did. It wasn't unusual for him to have thoughts that lingered in shadow, but the thought of Alice's gravestone was benign and out of place. And he didn't like it and he certainly didn't like that he wasn't too fond of the thought.

As he passed by lamp post the dim light flickered. He looked up and saw the nearly full moon. He gave a steely glare to the Man in the Moon and hoped that he didn't just cause himself trouble for leaving his domain. "Just out for a stroll," he said, hoping that the Man in the Moon hadn't been watching too closely.

Down an alleyway he heard a faint whinny, and was pleased to see a colt-sized nightmare darting around. Pitch watched as it cleverly avoided the dream sand creatures, and he did the same.

Concealing himself in shadow he appeared in the middle of a local park. The lamps flickered ominously at his presence. But then soft wind fiddled on by, and the lights were blown out like a candle. He frowned. That's never happened before. There was nothing in that park besides himself and, as he noticed moments later, a forlorn crow perched on one of the street lamps. Sitting with its back hunched. Watching with its beady eyes. Unmoving like a statue. Conniving.

Craving attention. Craving affection.

Pitch also noticed that a grey cloud had passed over the sky, concealing the stars and placing a veil over the gaze of the moon. The world truly was engulfed in darkness. Nothing stirred. The world was still, but this was a stillness that brought an omen. It was something unnatural.

But within a few short moments, the world was spinning again, plummeting, tumbling, falling, indecently and unceasingly spiraling. He heard a dark chuckle as the lone crow cackled and flew up to the ink-stained sky.

Consumed in a thick fog (when had that emerged?) was a hunched, gnarly-jointed figure concealed in thick, shadowy robes. Two beady black eyes peaked out from the darkness and were chillingly prominent.

"Kozmotis Pitchner," a sharp, nail-on chalkboard dirge-like snarl ripped through the seething, cutting silence. The sound was low, grumbly, heavy. In a fleeting fashion it lingered in the air, remnant, sticking, replacing the silence with harsh, sharp syllables and monotone. "Out of the shadows and into the darkness. My, my, we've come far, haven't we?"

The Nightmare King narrowed his parchment-yellow eyes. He folded his hands calmly and straitened his back, imitating the stance of authority. He recognized the eyes, the voice. The crippled, deformed shadow. The thick, putrid smell of the fog. The memory that he couldn't quite grasp was dancing at the edge of his tongue, taunting him. Mocking him. Goading, imploring, him to remember.

Knowing not whether this creature before him posed a threat or lack thereof, Pitch stood his ground and succeeded in ignoring how all save the lone lamp post was void, consumed in thick fog.

"The darkness is certainly much more interesting, to say the least," he replied coolly. "Than the shadows."

The figure chuckled darkly. "And why is that, Pitchner? Is it because there's no light? Or is it because there's no _one_?"

"I find the lack of both quite enjoyable," he said. Perhaps if he said that aloud, the reality would be confirmed. He _did_ enjoy his solitude. He _most certainly_ didn't miss the company or conversation of another.

"Then you know what it feels like."

_Know what feels like?_ "Can't say that I understand."

"Oh, you will. You will," the figure said with malevolence laced within his voice. "This is only the beginning."

The lamp flickered once. Twice. On the third lazy, weak dash of light seeping into the fog, the lamp burst into life. As well as Pitch's memory.

Who stood in the edges of the light was now gone, but Pitch had caught sight of what looked like a tiny bird cage disturbed by the wind.

Pitch looked around. The street had returned to normal. The stale wind blew gently and kissed his rigid flesh. Even the moon was starting to peak out behind a lump of grey clouds, and one by one the stars were returning. Everything was still, all except Pitch's mind that was racing mercilessly. He remembered. He didn't know how, but an enemy of old had returned. A crow called out into the night, ripping through the looming, ceaseless, still silence.

_Atramentous._


End file.
